


Sand oceany salty sea dog maybe story?

by Moonlight_Ultra_Greatspoon



Category: Original Work
Genre: Internal Monologue, Sea, sand, spare mumbo jumbo i cobbled up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:41:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29667459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlight_Ultra_Greatspoon/pseuds/Moonlight_Ultra_Greatspoon
Summary: just an old man, he might be a pirate, grimy griping it up. Originally writ in notepad on me phone. Edited rating because I have other E works and i don't want to bewilder people who somehow come in from this.





	Sand oceany salty sea dog maybe story?

Of all the things I love about the sand, its stickiness, ain't one of them. It's pretty hard going to keep trudging at the border where it meets the sea. Could be harder, could be easier, but right here, ankle high on me boots, about where I want to be. People see a man walking on the dry and strike up a friendly conversation, in the wet, they want to warn you about the dangers. I've found the perfect balance. It's also usually where I find some of my favourite friends, the limpets and other shoreline critters. Good eating, better company. When the clouds come in and it's about to rain, they tend to be a bit reclusive though, so I don't have anybody to enjoy the rain with, unless it's a coastguard, which I tend to steer clear of. Or my wife, who's currently an old bit of clamshell sat on my neck dangling from some salvaged rigging of my second love, The Sea Goblin's Scorne. She, in turn, introduced me to my third love, the land, who I longed for the minute I woke up aboard. And who I have become quite familiar with these cold years. And if my boots keep sticking-yup, there we go-I have been reacquainted with once again. Good as spot as any to take a rest. There's a good rock for foraging back the way, but I have eight generations of hard tack in my supplies, and don't ask me how, I keep trying to go through the stuff, but there'll be nine generations sooner or later. It outlasts your expectations. It outlasts you. For all I know, I might be holding the one thing to outlast the sea. And here I am trying to get through it. Maybe because I'm feeling pensive, so I don't feel like eating anything nicer, like say, all the sand in me pants.

**Author's Note:**

> weirdly i'm sticking by the wall of text look, i think it adds.


End file.
